If The Sun'S Splendour Never Died Away

In this orchestra full of vain deceit The drum of Being, each in turn, we beat. Each morning brings new truth to light and fame, And on the world falls lustre from a name. If in one constant course the ages rolled, Full many a secret would remain untold. If the sun's splendour never died away, Ne'er would the market of the stars be gay. If in our gardens endless frost were king, No rose would blossom at the kiss of Spring.